


Hazel and Mint

by DearlyStar



Series: Moments to Nowhere [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adorable, Chance Meetings, Confusion, Cute, Drabble, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Marauders' Era, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Romance, change of heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DearlyStar/pseuds/DearlyStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I let out a noise of frustration with myself. Potter is a prat. I don’t need to be thinking about what it would taste like to kiss him. There are plenty of girls who know that already, without me adding my name to the list on his bedside table." Lily experiences the beginnings of a radical change of heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazel and Mint

Oh gods, there he is. I don’t know why I even bothered coming down to Hogsmeade today. This is the LAST thing I need.

I should have told Marlene that I had homework, or needed to study. I can hear her voice in my head: “You do NOT need to study, Lily. You’ve earned top marks on pretty much everything in every class this year so far, and NEWTs are next year. I’m dragging you OUT. You need fresh air before you turn into a textbook.” I sigh to myself. At least it’s warm in here. Outside, it’s freezing cold, with snow piled up on itself like so much white candy-floss. Honeydukes is always a popular spot on Hogsmeade trips. Losing myself in the crowd is a relief; it’s nice to erase myself for a while.

But right now, I am completely self-aware. Uncomfortably so, in fact, because James freaking Potter just walked in, with Black at his hip. Potter is all hazel eyes and swagger. Hands in his pockets, hair like a windblown meadow of black grass. I realize that I’ve been looking at him for too long. I avert my eyes and shove my way closer to the back of the shop, praying silently that he won’t notice me. 

Ever since this fall, Potter has been… different. Less an ass, I think, is the proper way to say it. Not cursing people, or being as much of a bully, but still not entirely changed for the better. From the back corner near the Cockroach clusters and all the other weird assortments, I snatch room to breathe; the press of students is far less back here. But it affords an excellent overview of the shop, and, unbidden, my eyes find him again. 

Potter. I watch him laugh at something Black has said. Something lewd or completely inappropriate, guessing from the way his eyebrows arch as he laughs. His lips part easily, like they are more used to being open than closed. His eyes close tightly, lines forming in the landscape of his face, tiny canyons of mirth. His teeth, perfectly even and white (no doubt due to some kind of magic), look like they taste like mint and aromatic bitters. I let out a noise of frustration with myself. Potter is a prat. I don’t need to be thinking about what it would taste like to kiss him. There are plenty of girls who know that already, without me adding my name to the list on his bedside table.

I watch as he and Black goof their way through the shop, picking up and putting down things. James’s fingers are long and slender. Almost delicate, I’m shock to realized. I’m always so determined to ignore that stupid snitch that I’ve never given his hands a glance before. He and Black laugh again. Smiles aren’t a rare occurrence between them, even at the worst of times. I notice that while Black generally maintains his careless poise, James laughs heartily. Head back, emptying his lungs to the sky. I smile in spite of myself. His laughter is infectious. It sounds like stormy skies and summer heat. I hate it. I love it. 

Stupid git.

I wrench my eyes away and look down at my watch. Marlene is beyond late. I let out an aggravated sigh and decide to head back to the castle. She missed her chance to “lighten up” tightly-wound Lily Evans. I would just as soon stay tightly-wound. It’s safer, when people are afraid to get too close, for fear that you’ll spit a coil at them when you snap. Not that I don’t have friends. I do, truly, and they are dear to me. But when a quarter of the people I meet are quick to call me “mudblood,” I’ve learned how to distance myself quickly, for my own mental well-being.

I start to push my way back through the throng of students. I’m just passing the peppermint toads when I realize I don’t see James anymore. And then I hear it, like clockwork. 

“Oi, Evans! Go out with me?”

I turn, and he’s there. Potter, grinning his mint-flavored grin. His hazel eyes are locked onto mine. I start for a moment to realize that they are more green than I thought they were, behind those glass lenses. Staring for a moment, as he cocks a hip, I watch him hook a slim thumb through a belt loop.

“What, Evans, no immediate declination this time? I must be wearing you down!”

As he and Black roar with laughter, I snap back to reality with all the force of a meteor hitting the ground after a billion mile journey through space. The irritation in me flares up like a swarm of angry hornets.

“Sod off, Potter,” I snap, a little more harshly than I mean. His grin stays firmly in place, but I see something break behind his eyes; something deflates. I almost feel the air pressure change in his expression. 

“Aw, come on, Evans. Don’t be so harsh,” Black pipes up, an equal grin on his face. He flicks his long black hair out of his face with a heedless shake of his head. It manages to whisk a nearby Hufflepuff third year in the face. The blonde boy scowls before moving away. Black pays no mind.

“What brings you out here, Evans? I would have thought you’d be back up in the library, per the usual,” Potter says, picking through some of the sugar mice on display on a nearby counter. He tosses one idly into the air and catches it without looking away from me.

“I was waiting for Marlene, but she’s a no-show. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get my peppermint toads and leave,” I say curtly, randomly grabbing the first sweet to hand. Peppermint toads aren’t my favorite, but any excuse to get away, at this point. I wade through the crowd toward the counter. For some reason, Potter is making me more uncomfortable every moment, with his long lines, his black hair, his eyes trained on me. I never felt anything more less than annoyed at him before, but now... it’s different. I don’t want to yell at him. I just want to escape, even if that means stepping out into snow and cold to get back to the castle. I realize, with a jolt, that I actually don’t mind him, and that fact is making me extremely uncomfortable. 

The truth is, I have no idea how to act normally around James Potter.

I duck out of the way before they can tail me. I see Black shrug out of the corner of my eye, but I can still sense Potter watching me. I feel his eyes, those hazel mirrors, impaling me from several yards away.

I’ve never been a terribly poetic person. I think in terms of how I feel, yes, but I’m not poetic about things. I’m very matter-of-fact. But right now, I think about those eyes. The pair of eyes searing a hole in my back with what I must imagine is the same longing, forlorn look he usually gives me when he thinks I don’t notice. Hazel, like the branches of the hardy bushes by my parent’s house in Cokeworth. Like the green-copper-gray of the Forbidden Forest just before fall hits in earnest, before all the leaves turn vivid. I think about the way they shift when I walk down a corridor, or meet mine in the hallway, automatically prompting me to roll mine. The thought of meeting his eyes makes me flush. I shove some money onto the counter and hurriedly duck out of the shop.

The cold air hits me like a plunge into an icy pool. The wind hips my hair around, tangling and snarling at it. Potter’s hair is something I purposely don’t notice, as he’s always messing it about. Or he used to anyway. The more I think about it, I don’t think I’ve seen him do that in the last month. Maybe even two. Hm. Odd, usually he’s so intent on looking like he’s just flown a broom for miles through a lightning storm. Now his hair falls a little flatter, although not by much. It sticks up at the back without his cajoling, but it fringes over his eyes. I blush harder, and walk more quickly back up the high street, wrapping my arms around myself.

Marlene. This is all her fault that I’m freezing and being made uncomfortable by my own thoughts. I’ve made it several yards up the street, through the half foot of snow sheeting the road, when I hear a voice. A very recognizable voice.

“Evans! Oi, EVANS!” Potter is coming up the street at a jog, straight at me. We’re alone, as nobody else wants to brave the cold sooner than necessary to head back to the castle. Lovely.

“What, Potter? What do you want? If you’re going to ask me out again, I can’t tell you right now that-”

“No, it’s not that!” He puts his hands up placatingly, and I see a slightly squirming paper bag from Honeydukes in one of them. “You… you left your peppermint toads.”

“Oh,” I say lamely. My brain seems to have stopped just when I need it most. Of course.

“Well, I’ll… I’ll see you later then, right?” he says, running his hand through his hair. 

And there it is. I look up at just the wrong moment, and we lock eyes. It seems like forever to me, those hazel eyes behind those lenses, apprehensive and nervous, but somehow warm and inviting. I certainly don’t feel cold anymore. Even the hand through the hair isn’t annoying, but somehow… endearing. Dear gods, what on earth is wrong with me?

“Right,” I say, even more lamely than my first brilliant assertion. I tear my eyes away after what feel like years.

He holds the bag out for me, and I take it, careful to avoid touching his hand.

“Thanks,” I mutter, before turning to leave.

“Evans,” I hear him start, and half turn around.

“What?”

“We should get a drink. You know, sometime,” he says, looking for all the world like he is actually nervous.

“Not this time. Keep asking, Potter.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. I am utterly mortified, but clampdown to maintain my composure.

And then Potter smiles. A big, genuine smile that lights up the street like Christmas. It makes my stomach turn over, and my hair stand on end. He lets out a short laugh.

“Alright, then, I will!” He says, more cheerful than I’ve ever heard him. “Cheers, Evans!” 

He heads in the opposite direction, where Black is now standing outside of Honeydukes, waiting with an amused expression on his face. They head off up the street.

I turn, and make my way back to the castle. My head is spinning. My body is on fire. I’m utterly confused. 

And for some reason, I want a peppermint toad.


End file.
